


Tinsel Time

by WallflowerBitca



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Christmas fic, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Smut, literally they're all different, one shots, so you can skip ones that don't appeal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallflowerBitca/pseuds/WallflowerBitca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of steamy/angsty/fluffy/funny/anything goes one-shot interludes at different Christmas times throughout the Buffyverse. Every pairing under the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candy Canes

**Author's Note:**

> They're all different - I'll post content warnings at the top of chapters, there's some mention of yucky stuff in one bit, plus there's a bit of smut injected for fun in some. THANKS. This is a gift for my perfect secret santa, Princess-of-the-Geeks.

**Candy Canes**

**Willow and Tara – Season 5**

**I have a weird headcannon in which Willow and Tara got hot and heavy anywhere and everywhere secretly all through season 5. This is just one of those moments, set somewhere near Christmas time, perhaps around Triangle? Doesn’t much matter when.**

“Junior chem is a breezy course,” Tara leaned back in her chair, shutting the book a little too loudly for the silent library.

“Which is why I’m going to do it next year… I’ve been watching you revise all semester and I’m pretty sure I did more advanced stuff in AP Chem in high school!” Willow circled back to face Tara, opening a psychology textbook and fanning through the pages. “But look at it this way, one more week of study, then we get to be relax-y-gals over Christmas break.”

“What are we going to do for Christmas?” Tara asked.

“Be Jewish, and therefore not celebrate the biggest most commercial holiday of the year?” Willow quirked an eyebrow.

Tara grinned. “Okay, you’re Jewish… I’m Wiccan… between us, that’s no happy-birthday-Jesus. What _ever_ shall we do, all lonely in our toasty room while it’s all cold and dreary outside?” Tara’s face split in a sly, vixen-y grin. Willow’s heart picked up and her breath hitched in her throat. Was Tara suggesting…?

“Hmm, well we have to generate heat _somehow_ ,” Willow went along with Tara, biting her lip as she gazed into darkening sapphire eyes.

“So how ‘bout it Will? Christmas day, you, me, locked door and a bottle of champagne?”

“Don’t forget the candy canes,” Willow beamed. She could feel herself blushing, but nearly a year with Tara had let her grow accustomed to the way the shy blonde would play these saucy little games with her… just conversational exchanges that would leave them both aching. Tara _definitely_ knew how to turn just about any phrase on its head… and have it leave Willow squirming. What Willow loved most though, was the way that everyone thought Tara was this shy, timid, inhibited girl… but Willow was the only one that ever got to see the way Tara really was. A caterpillar of adorable quietness that actually kinda exploded into a slutty-sexy-sensual butterfly. She was still quiet, still gentle… but the husk in her voice, the darkness in her eyes, the way her hands were almost always creeping in so-not-public-appropriate places, well. None of them really knew Tara. And Willow was okay with that. She kinda loved having this sexy, adventurous part of Tara all to herself.

“Candy canes?” Tara raised one eyebrow. “Hmm, I can think of _so_ ,” she leaned in to Willow, her full lips almost touching the shell of the redhead’s ear, “ _many_ places those would, uh, _tingle_.”

Oh Goddess sweet torture… they’d promised themselves that they’d stay at the library for a full three hours of studying. It had been… Willow snuck a look at the clock… crap. Twenty minutes. But Tara was quick. She caught Willow’s glance at the clock and grinned.

“You think you can wait another two and a half hours?”

“Can you?” Willow retorted. She knew that look. Tara’s pupils were dilated, and her lips were parted and glistening. She kept shifting in her chair, crossing and recrossing her gorgeous legs.

“I need to, uh, get a book. From the occult section.” Tara stood quickly, a lecherous look in her arousal-darkened eyes. “Come help me find it?”

Willow smiled, just a little smugly. Tara, after all, was the one who’d insisted on the study session. The redhead very slowly reached down into her bag, bending at the waist and feeling Tara’s eyes on her behind. Carefully, she extracted on of the candy canes thrust at her by the frat boys as she walked around campus. Ever so torturously slowly, she stood up, turning to face Tara.

Tara gasped, her arousal doubling instantly. Willow was standing in front of her, a candy cane hooked over her finger, the other hand on her hip and the sweetest-sexiest little half grin gracing her lips. Tara beamed, shaking her head and grabbing Willow. Within half a minute, they were at the very back corner of the stacks, a place so rarely ventured into that not even the cleaner bothered much with it. The take-charge portion of Tara’s libido kicked in at that point, and she sensually ran her hands down Willow’s arms, biting her lip in a sexy-as-all-hell little smirk. Her hands ran up and down, up and down, over and over again, raising gooseflesh and making Willow tingle. Every time her hands ran a little lower, and on her fiftheenth…sixteenth (Willow wasn’t sure, she was kinda preoccupied) stroke, her fingers brushed the clasp of Willow’s skirt. She ran her hands back up again, this time under Willow’s arms, hooking Willow’s festive sweater up over her head as she went. This left Willow standing in just a camisole and her skirt, far better sexy-library time attire.

“Stockings or hose?” Tara whispered, pressing a wet kiss to Willow’s ear.

Willow gave a quiet gasp, pressing into Tara, “stockings,” she breathed, then, pulling Tara in for a searing kiss, whispered into her mouth, “ _and no underwear_.”

“Willow!” Tara gasped, pulling back with a look of wonderment.

“Laundry day,” Willow said, supressing a smile as she shrugged.

“Vixen.”

Tara slid her hand beneath Willow’s skirt and grinned, finding warm wetness and no underwear barrier.

“Three hours, ya wouldn’t think it’d be hard to go three hours without doing thiiiiii--” Willow’s chatter cut off abruptly when two of Tara’s fingers slid effortlessly into her hot centre. “But I’m glad we didn’t…” she exhaled, writhing against Tara’s palm which was flat on her clit. In one smooth motion, Willow hooked her legs around Tara’s hips, half supporting her weight on her girlfriend and half on the shelf behind her whilst simultaneously slipping her fingers under the gusset of Tara’s panties and setting up a rub-thrust kind of motion. Immediately, Tara gripped Willow’s waist tighter with her spare hand, and began pressing hot kisses down her dainty collar bone, Tara’s tongue leaving a burning trail. Her senses were obliterated by Tara, all of it was Tara… touch and sight and smell and taste, she moaned softly, unable not to at the total sensory assault Tara was providing. Almost immediately, all sound was drowned out by an insisting pair of full lips. Whilst Willow kind of wanted to protest the lack of neck kissing, she couldn’t help but understand why. She kinda had a tendency to be the one who screamed loud enough to give away their almost-secret sexcapades. Like in study group last month. They’d retreated to this same back corner of the library and… there was screamage and… well, now none of the girls would speak to them and all the guys kept hitting on them. Tara sensed Willow’s thoughts wandering and smiled slightly against her lips, deepening the kiss and obliterating any further thought. She doubled the pressure on Willow’s sex, and felt Willow reciprocate by adding a second finger. Tara bit back a moan, pressing her tongue into Willow’s mouth to keep from moaning. Slowly, she began pressing more and more hot, open-mouthed kisses down Willow’s throat, stopping at the top of her cleavage before working her way back up again. Willow leaned back slightly, plucking the candy cane from the shelf behind her and tearing the wrapper off with her teeth. She pinned Tara’s gaze, emerald locking with sapphire as she slowly, sensuously unfurled her tongue, running it from the base of the candy cane all the way over the curve and moaning in minty-fresh satisfaction. Tara’s sapphire gaze darkened to shades of midnight and Willow licked her lips, before slowly sliding down Tara’s body, reluctantly dismounting her fingers. She quickly flicked the button on Tara’s skirt and smiled as it dropped to the floor. Blushing, but knowing that Tara would think it was sexy, Willow leaned forward, gripping the blonde’s satin panties in her teeth and ripping. They fell from her body in tatters. Willow held the glistening candy up.

“What do you want for Christmas, baby?” She whispered.

“You,” Tara grinned.

Willow beamed, running the candy cane down Tara’s dripping slit, from her clit to her opening, and slid it in. Tara groaned.

“Tingly,” she smiled.

“Yummy,” Willow replied, laving Tara’s pussy with her tongue.

Tara bit back another moan as Willow began pumping the candy cane like a piston. She spread her legs a little wider, encouraging the little red-headed elf between her legs to keep doing whatever it was that felt so _damn_ good… Willow sucked Tara’s clit hard, before beginning a light pattern of flicks against the hard little nub.

“I love you, my little elf,” Tara moaned.

“I love you too,” and Willow kissed, not licked, not sucked, actually _kissed_ her clit. That was enough. Tara’s legs began to shake and she bit down on her own lip to keep from crying out as her hips thrust forward into Willow’s welcoming mouth. Willow gently tongued at her pussy until the last aftershocks subsided, before slowly removing the candy cane. It was all syrupy, and dripping in Tara-juice. Willow smiled, then licked it off appreciatively.

“Yummy, yummy, Tara with mint,” Willow grinned, licking the red food dye off her lips.

“You’re a spaz, Willow. A sexy, sexy little spaz.” Tara pulled Willow up, kissing her deeply and tasting the strangely good Tara-sweet-tart-candy-mint combination. In one quick motion, she’d snatched the candy from Willow’s grasp and slid it deeply inside her pussy. Willow gasped, her head rolling back in pleasure as she hooked herself up on Tara’s hips so she could grind her clit against her firm belly. Tara once again resumed her grip on Willow’s waist, kissing her tender pulse point, occasionally sucking hard. Just to make sure there was a little mark of their adventure left for the days to come. She doubled the speed of her candy-infused thrusting, and Willow was thankful Tara was strong… she’d kinda gotten to that melty point where supporting your own weight became a non-possibility. Willow’s pants increased to moans, and the slick wetness from her pussy was dripping down Tara’s wrist. Quickly, Tara silenced Willow’s moans with a kiss, smiling at the way Willow was writhing against her, like a slippery little … slippery thing. She wasn’t at a high-thought-process level right now. A few more thrusts… Willow’s body was shaking, and she could feel the warm tingle begin to spread from where Tara’s fingers touched her right through her body, spreading up and up and… and it was like an explosion. Willow tried, but she couldn’t bite back the noises, however Tara was, as usual, quick off the mark. She pressed her open mouth to Willow’s, swallowing every shriek, cuss and moan as she let Willow ride her orgasm out, wave by wave. Ever so slowly, Willow slid back to Earth, gradually righting herself. Tara removed the candy cane, mirroring Willow’s earlier action by licking it clean, before snapping it in half and sliding on end into Willow’s mouth with a cheeky grin. The kissed again, sharing mint-Willow-Tara taste, before pulling apart and quickly redressing.

“Will?” Tara said as they, flushed and musky-minty returned to their table.

“Mm?”

“I don’t think it’s just the big, honkin’ menorah that’s keeping Santa away from your place.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, though smiling as she could see where it was going from the vixen-y look in Tara’s eyes.

“Well Willow,” Tara cried in faux-exasperation, “you don’t really think that after _that_ he could possibly put you on the nice list?!”

 

 


	2. Holier than Thou?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy, Faith... clean but sexual references. It's part of my multi-chapter christmas series for Princess of the Geeks. Anyways, it’s nearly Christmas time in Sunnydale, and Buffy and Faith get to talking while patrolling…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and Faith – Season 3  
> We’re breaking cannon and saying Buffy isn’t jonesing for Angel, though I’m sure he’s off somewhere brooding about it. (From reading these you shall probably realise I’m strictly Spuffy/Fuffy – Bangel doesn’t have much of a place in my heart unless I’m watching IWRY.)

Faith slammed her stake into another vamp, not even turning to look as he turned to dust. She was kinda just intent on keeping stride with Buffy.

“Scott Hope was a total jerk, B. Forget him!” She shook her head. That guy had screwed her over bad. Well, not as bad as say, Angel, but still. Pretty bad.

“Ugh, I just… I wanna ruin his chances at anyone ever going near his penis ever again!”

“Well, I got that one chick to think he had herpes at homecoming.”

“That was amazing Faith, seriously… I’m going to thank you for that every day for the rest of eternity.”

Faith grinned at the older girl. “Whatever ya say, B. I’m sure I can get some more decent rumours going if I have to. Or I could just, I dunno, blue ball him or whatever.”

Buffy laughed, glancing at her sister slayer. She was kinda impressed. “Well, I’m pretty sure you are the only one slutty enough _and_ evil enough for the job,” Buffy jabbed Faith in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m not sure if that was a compliment, so I’m just gonna take it as one, B.”

“Oh come on, you’ve actually had sex more than once.”

“Yeah, and you wanna know what else?”

“What?” Buffy asked, stopping and sitting on a gravestone.

“We didn’t just do boring missionary-soul-losing style,” she paused, “okay, maybe cut the boring, but the soul-losing still applies.” Faith sat down Indian-style in front of Buffy. “But you’re miss holier-than-thou. I wouldn’t suggest living la-vida-Faith.”  
“And if I wanted to?”  
“Like you could handle it, B.”  
Offended, Buffy swung her legs out, kicking at Faith. “What on _earth_ can you handle that I can’t?”  
Faith chuckled, grabbing Buffy’s – Christ, she was wearing heeled boots patrolling – foot and halting her with considerable force. She used Buffy’s leg to pull herself up, running her hands up the older slayer’s thighs until their faces were mere inches apart, all of Faith’s weight resting on Buffy’s cotton-clad legs.  
The blonde’s breath hitched in her chest, and she tried very hard not to let her heart speed up at the sudden proximity. Stupid heart.  
Faith’s fingers reached out, and Buffy’s heart almost stopped completely as she felt them – accidentally? – graze her cheek, before flicking the Christmas earrings Buffy was wearing.  
“You’re wearing heels and tinsel, B. You’re the day to my night. We’re like water and… stuff that doesn’t like water. I’d have a better example if I’d taken chem.”  
“I never said I don’t like you.” The words were out of Buffy’s mouth before she could think, and she instantly felt herself flush.  
“Well,” Faith smiled, rocking backward, her hands sliding further toward the inside of Buffy’s thigh. “I’m thinking that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”

Buffy pulled back, not able to make eye contact… she couldn’t look at Faith or she’d…  
“Just think of it as a Christmas present.”  
  
And before Faith could so much as smile, Buffy had bolted.


	3. They're Crappy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith goes over to Buffy's at Christmas... but when Buffy has to leave suddenly, Faith finally finds out what it's like to have a family who really cares. Part of my christmas one-shots for Princess of the Geeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 3, Amends. Enjoy.

“Faith?” Joyce called up the stairs, “Buffy?”  
“Uh, B kinda had to split. Big evil, ya know?” Faith replied, walking slowly down the stairs. She felt kinda awkward. Sure, it was one thing spending Christmas at B’s house… with B, but it was another thing entirely to be here with just her mom. She’d never spent Christmas with her own mom, let alone someone else’s. But still, she had to play watchdog. Didn’t want Buffy’s mom getting hurt or anything. She did kinda like the woman.  
“Why didn’t you go with her?” Joyce questioned, worry evident on her face. “Is it dangerous? Will she be alright?”  
“She’ll be five by five,” Faith replied, almost envious of the amount of concern Joyce was showing for Buffy. “It’s just something she had to do on her own. For Angel.”  
“Oh,” Joyce said, “I see.” She looked up at Faith. “Do you love her?”  
“Huh?”  
“Buffy, do you love her?”  
“I don’t do love, Mrs S,” Faith replied with a smirk. “And I’m not hot for B, promise.”  
“Just thought I’d ask,” Joyce said softly. “Never hurts to ask. You matter to all of us Faith, and the door’s always open. Know that.” A seventeen year old girl? She could hardly believe that Faith was only seventeen. There was pain hidden behind those sex-thrilled, adrenaline-sparked eyes that she’d never seen in another person. Her stomach knotted coldly at the thought of someone as young and vibrant as Faith ‘not doing love’.  
“Uh, thanks.” Faith was…shocked. Sure, she knew Mrs S was cool, but there was more to the woman than that. She didn’t know mothers were supposed to care so much. In fact, she didn’t know anyone was supposed to care so much. Faith balled her fists tightly. Everything had changed so much in a few short months in Sunnydale. It was almost like having a family. Not that she needed one. She was kinda a lone wolf. Always operated that way. Dealt with what needed dealing, scraped by on whatever she had. It’s just what she had to do. Now other people wanted to shoulder her burdens…and she didn’t understand why. Her past had made her so numb… and Sunnydale was warming her from the inside out.  
“How long do you think she’ll be?” Joyce asked, attempting to change the subject. Faith was so obviously uncomfortable with it, after all.  
“Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all night,” Faith replied, picking up her coat coolly. Time to blow this popsicle stand before Mrs S started asking Faith to call her ‘mommy’. “I should probably split, don’t wanna impose no more than I already have.” The brunette walked toward the door.   
“Faith!” Joyce called after her, “Faith, please stay.”  
“Nah, I don’t wanna be a bother.” Except she should… Buffy had asked her to stay, after all…  
“Nonsense, Faith. I cooked enough food for a small army. And it’s, well, okay not cold outside. But you might catch a cold from the … warm … breeze and-”  
“You really don’t mind me stayin’?” Faith asked, a smile creeping onto her face. C’mon, what’s one night of free food hurt? And B would be super-pissed if she left her mom alone.  
“Of course not, please, make yourself comfortable,” Joyce gave her a warm smile, ushering her back to the couch and taking off her coat.  
As Joyce disappeared into the kitchen, Faith couldn’t help but begin to wonder what her sister slayer was doing. Was she helping Angel? Were they getting back together? Could they? She realised with a jolt, she actually felt a small pang of jealousy at the idea of B getting back with the fang-guy. She was too damned good for him. She didn’t deserve someone who’d hurt her. She bit back a smirk as she thought of the number of times she’d dropped B hard with a kick during their training sessions. Buffy was too good for anyone who could hurt her.  
“Merry Christmas, Faith,” Mrs Summers placed a glass of icy lemonade into Faith’s hands. “I was going to make hot chocolate, but it’s too, well, hot, for that. So I went with lemonade instead.”  
Faith grinned. “Thanks.”  
“Do you really enjoy being a slayer?” Joyce questioned, sitting down in the arm chair across from Faith and sipping from her own glass.  
“I do,” Fait nodded. “And as much as Buffy denies it, she likes it too.”  
“What is it that you like so much though?”  
“I dunno.” Faith said with a shrug, “It’s something I can control, ya know? Like I’m one of the only two people in the world who really knows what it feels like.”  
Joyce nodded, smiling slightly. “You and Buffy are very similar.”  
“We’re the Chosen Two,” Faith grinned.  
Joyce couldn’t help but smile at the girl sitting in front of her. Despite the tough-as-nails demeanour, she was honestly quite sweet. Ever so enthusiastic with a zest for life Joyce had never seen before. She was glad Buffy had found Faith when she did… the almost depression-like cloud that had hung over her after she returned from her summer away had slowly been lifting these past few weeks, and it was something Joyce could only attribute to Faith. She stood, going over to the Christmas tree and picking the package that Buffy had wrapped for Faith last night.  
“Merry Christmas,” Joyce handed her the parcel. “Buffy picked it out for you.”  
“F-for me?” Faith seemed so genuinely surprised. Joyce’s heart ached for the girl. What had been in her past that left her so shocked at a simple gift? “My mom’s version of a Christmas present was intentionally missing when she threw her empty vodka bottles at my hea--” Faith cut herself off, realising that she’d begun to talk about. No one needed to hear about that crap. Joyce crouched in front of Faith, placing a hand on her knee. Faith flinched visibly, but then slowly relaxed, her face easing into a smile. “Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome, Faith.”  
And here she’d thought she and Buffy were still on less-than-warm terms. Guess the girl cared some after all. Faith slid her nail cautiously under the tape, but her enthusiasm overtook and she tore into the paper, eager to see one of the first real gifts she’d been given in years. Inside was a plain white box, with a card on top. Faith opened the card, smiling at the motif of a zombie Santa on the front.  
“How morbid,” Joyce said dryly, quirking an eyebrow at the front of the card. Faith grinned.  
Faith,  
Merry Christmas – have a good one.  
I got you this because I figured I have one of my own and it comes in real handy (applies to both parts of gift). There are two layers to the box, but don’t open the second layer in front of my mom – she’d wig. Anyways, the top layer will be helpful during slayage, the bottom more for the post-slayage tingles.  
Enjoy!  
B x  
Faith smirked. She was pretty sure she knew what was in the bottom layer of the box. Didn’t know B had it in her. She opened the box, and sitting on top of copious amounts of tissue paper and tied with a blood-red ribbon was a shiny, polished mahogany stake. The words Faith the Vampire Slayer were carved into the top and inlaid in red.  
“Wow,” Faith breathed, removing the stake and testing the weight in her hand. It was perfect.   
“Well the morbid card doesn’t seem so depressing now,” Joyce laughed, standing up and shaking her head. “Though I must say it’s really well carved.”  
“You’re pretty cool, Mrs S,” Faith smiled.  
“That’s good to know!” Mrs Summers chuckled.  
“I got presents for you and B too… but they’re kinda crappy.”  
“It’s the thought that counts Faith, you know you didn’t have to.”  
“Well, I did…” Faith stood up, tenderly placing the stake back in the box and closing the lid before going over to the Christmas tree and picking up her gift for Mrs Summers.  
“I-I didn’t have any gift wrap or tape, so it’s just newspaper and string, sorry,” Faith blushed. Usually she wouldn’t give a rats ass about this kind of thing, but she actually really wanted Mrs Summers to like her gift. Like if her gift wrap was pretty enough, and her clothes were nice enough and her makeup was neat enough and her hair was bouncy enough, she’d be just perfect enough to be part of this pretty, nice, neat, bouncy little family. Because at the moment she had crumpled newspaper and skanky clothes and smudged eyeliner and wild hair and nothing about her family was perfect. Her family was still…her. Crumpled and skanky and smudged and wild.   
Mrs Summers eased open the newspaper and gasped in surprised happiness. It was a gleaming, steel carving knife.  
“At thanksgiving, you didn’t have anything to carve the turkey with and it was kinda sad watchin’ you try to do it with a bread knife, so I-I thought it’d be useful…” she trailed off as Mrs Summers rushed forward and hugged her. The knife wasn’t brand name or high quality, just a crappy Wal-Mart creation, but Mrs Summers seemed to love it.  
“Thank you, Faith.” She pulled back, smiling at how thoughtful Faith had been – though by the look on the girl’s face, she didn’t really realise how touching remembering a little thing like that could be. “Are you going to help me carve up the meat for dinner?”  
“I’d love to,” Faith replied, smiling. 

“Is it just me, or is it getting chillier?” Mrs Summers asked, stacking away the last of the dishes from dinner.  
“You turned the thermostat down,” Faith pointed out.  
“Oh!” Joyce laughed, turning it back up again. “Now Faith, you’re staying the night, yes?”  
“I uh…”  
“It wasn’t really a question,” Joyce led Faith gently back into the living room and sat down on the couch, flicking on the TV. Faith was kinda grateful. She wasn’t sure if she was up to facing another night in that stupid little motel. Not after feeling so… good…here.  
As Joyce flicked channels, Faith could feel her eyes getting heavier and heavier. It had been a long day…and she’d had more food in the last hour than she’d eaten all week. And she was pretty sure there was alcohol in the eggnog.   
Joyce smiled as she realised Faith had fallen asleep next to her on the couch. She tenderly covered the girl with a blanket and went back to watching Christmas specials. Poor Faith. She deserved to have someone else take care of her, just for a little while. Joyce could never wrap her head around the fact that Faith was nearly a year younger than Buffy, but completely independent. Living on her own, working, slaying… quite obviously not the Virgin Mary when it came to all things Relationship. She was living the life of a woman twice her age… and handling it surprisingly well. At least, she hadn’t fallen of the deep end the way most people in her situation would. She ran her hand through Faith’s tangled hair, smiling. In her sleep she looked so innocent. There was a little smile on her lips and her whole face was relaxed. It stripped years from her. She, for once, looked like exactly what she was. A teenaged girl.  
“You’re so strong, Faith,” Joyce whispered. “I just wish you’d see that it’s okay to let other people be strong for you sometimes. You don’t need to be numb to the rest of the world. It’s not going to hurt you.” She ran her hand sadly down Faith’s cheek, then stood, moving and settling herself in the armchair to watch the night through the window.  
Faith woke with a start. It had to be nearly four am. And she was shivering! It was freezing cold. She sat, immediately alert, and looked out the window. She gasped. Snow was falling in big flakes, she could already see drifts piling up next to the garden beds. She glanced around the room, seeing Joyce asleep curled in the armchair.  
“Joyce,” she whispered, “Joyce look.”  
Joyce woke groggily, patting her hair back into place as she gazed out the window. She, too, gasped. Snow? In Sunnydale? Faith jumped up, rushing to the front door and walking out into the snow, grinning as it fell around her. Joyce grabbed a coat, wrapping it around herself as she more slowly followed Faith out into the snow. The girl spun in the snow, sticking out her tongue as snowflakes landed on it. She looked a picture of innocence, grinning at the white specks. Joyce smiled, reaching out a hand and catching a flake. It melted instantly in her palm, but was joined by a dozen other within moments. Fresh snow. It was beautiful.  
“How?” Faith said, catching snow on her tongue.  
“Wonderful things happen at Christmas,” Joyce replied.  
You just gotta have a little faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I wrote most of these stories nearly 2 years ago - so sorry that some of it is cheesy.


	4. Little Acorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about a young Tara Maclay. She's six years old, and it's Christmas time in a broken family. (Warnings of angst and mentions of child abuse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings guys.

It was still dark outside when Tara woke up. Her mouth had that funny morning taste in it, so she took a sip from the glass of water beside her bed. She was sort of excited. She just couldn’t remember why. She knelt up on her bed, peering through a bend in the vertical slats in her blinds and smiled. There was fresh snow falling outside and Christmas lights blinking up and down the street. Then she remembered why she was so excited. It was Christmas! Christmas day! She slid out of bed and quietly scampered to her door, hoping she could creep out into the living room and sneak a peak at what Santa Claus had brought her. She turned her door handle, but it made a half turn then clicked. Her father had locked it again. He did that sometimes. Usually when he’d had a drink from the bottle of amber liquid on the mantle. Tara retreated to her bed, wrapping her arms around her torso. She hated it when he locked the door. Last time he’d done that she’d needed the bathroom. There were still bruises on her back from that. She’d been dirty and he’d had to make sure she wouldn’t be dirty again. She felt bad about it, because she didn’t mean to be dirty. She just couldn’t wait any longer. She walked forward and tried the door again, rattling it slightly. Definitely locked. Defeated, Tara returned to her bed and curled up, trying to go back to sleep. Everything would be alright in a few hours. Christmas was a happy thing. And happy things were nice. Suddenly, her lock clicked and the door opened. Tara gasped, sliding further under the covers, desperately trying to hide her face behind the comforter. No no no no, Father would be so angry if he knew she was awake.

“Baby?” The voice was like honey. It was Tara’s favourite sound in the world.

“M-Mama,” Tara’s relieved little voice squeaked from under the covers. She sat up, smiling. Her mother. That was fine. Mama never punished her. Mama didn’t think she was bad. But mama was wrong. That’s what her father said anyway.

“Baby I’m sorry,” she sank down onto the covers, pulling Tara into her arms and stroking her long blonde hair out of her eyes. The little girl in her arms was so brand new, hiding her fresh little face behind her hair. Tara was still the greatest blessing in her life. She was the only reason Trisha hadn’t ended her own life years ago. She needed to protect her baby. She’d tried desperately just to hold Tara’s hand through all the unhealed wounds, all tears and screams. It was all she had left. She couldn’t fight away the pain, but she could still wipe the tears. And she would. For as long as she could. There was too much in their history for time to erase. “Here,” she held out some brand new clothes to Tara. “Put these on and we’ll go for a little walk in the snow until your father and brother wake up, okay?”

Tara nodded, sliding out of bed and taking off her pyjamas. She winced slightly as she pulled them down. Trisha knelt in front of her daughter, eyes filling with tears as she looked at her child’s marred skin. Her inner thighs were shades of black and purple and there were welts on her bottom peeking out from under her underwear. Trisha hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting back and letting Tara dress.

 

Tara opened the front door very slowly, clutching her mother’s hand. The air was filled with snow and fog. She could barely see a foot in front of her.

“Mama, did someone take the world away?” She asked softly.

“No,” Trisha replied gently. “It’s all still here, all for you Tara…” she took her daughter’s hand, leading her out into the mist. As they walked, it began to clear, leaving the world coated in a pretty shimmer. Tara gasped. It was beautiful. Her mother led her down the creek. It was frozen over, and all the trees had a blanket of soft snow on them. Everything was shiny with ice, glinting and shimmering as the sun began to peek over the horizon. “Look at this, Tara,” her mother picked up an acorn from the ground.

“It’s an acorn,” Tara replied. “Squirrels like those.”

“They do. Do you know what else acorns are good for?”

Tara shook her head.

“We use them in spells for protection, good luck, wisdom and personal power.” Her mother closed her eyes, murmuring words Tara didn’t understand under her breath. The acorn glowed briefly, and Trisha opened her eyes. “Keep this with you, Tara. Promise me, when you’re at home, always have this on you.”

“I p-promise,” Tara nodded, taking the small acorn into her hands. It felt warm and comforting, very familiar. Trisha glanced at the skyline. The sun was almost fully up now.

“We should go, baby,” she said softly.

Tara didn’t want to leave. It was nice here. The sun was warm and the tree she was sitting under was big and beautiful, with long tendrils that hung down. She could hide in them. She felt safe sitting in the massive roots. Tara ran her hands over the bark. It was rough and silky all at once, and she could feel the same warm fuzziness in the tree as she could in the acorn, and in her mother’s other charms.

“It’s a willow tree,” Trisha crouched in front of Tara.

“It’s beautiful.” Tara paused. “But it’s s-s-sad.”

“Weeping Willow,” her mother smiled. “The Earth can give you life Tara. Don’t ever forget that. When things seem bad, know that this…” she ran her hands over the bark, “this will always be there for you.”

 

“Quickly,” Trisha murmured, ushering Tara through the door,“we were out too long. Your father is already up.”

“Where have you been?”

Tara hated that tone. His voice when he was mad. It was a low rumble that made her think of big machines. Those machines that were massive and unforgiving and couldn’t even see you past the big bonnet and if you’re not careful they’d just run straight over you.

“We woke up early and went for a walk so we didn’t wake you by talking,” Trisha replied coolly.

“You can’t just disappear on me like that, Trisha!”

“God, Derek, it’s Christmas, leave it!”

Tara scampered away. She hated it when they started to yell. She hurried into the living room, sitting underneath the Christmas tree. She hoped it’d have the same warm fuzzy feeling that the willow tree and the acorn did. But it didn’t. The leaves were plastic and scratchy and she still felt cold inside.

“You retard, what you doing under the Christmas tree? Not like you’re any kinda gift,” Donny kicked at her lightly, shoving her from under the tree. She crossed her arms across her torso defensively.

“I j-j-just w-wanted to see if it f-f-felt as n-nice as a r-real t-tree.”

“Retard,” Donny muttered, shoving her roughly as he knelt, examining the presents. Donny was twelve now, and every year he got a bit bigger and a bit meaner. Tara didn’t like it. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d said something nice to her. He wasn’t a good big brother. He didn’t protect her, or play with her or talk to her like other big brothers. He just hurt her.

A loud slap followed by a scream echoed down the hallway. Donny smirked. Tara wanted to yell at him for thinking it was funny when Father hit mama, but her throat was so full of tears no sound could get out.

“Merry Christmas by beautiful children,” their mother came into the living room, a big smile plastered on her face. But there was a red mark on her cheek and her eyes were shiny with tears. He voice sounded all shaky. “Are you going to see what Santa brought?”

Donny dove into his stocking, but Tara walked forward, toward her mother, and fell into a tight hug.

“I’m s-sorry mama.”

“What for?” Trisha pushed her back, holding Tara at arm’s length. Tara ran her hand gently across the welt on her mother’s cheek. “It’s my f-f-f-f-fault that h-he p-p-punished you.”

“What Tara? No!” Her mother pulled her in tightly, hugging her and cradling her head. “Goddess no, it’s not your fault.” She pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

“Tara, go get me my paper,” her father walked into the room.

“Y-y-y-yes sir,” she replied, ducking out of her mother’s embrace and hanging her head as she ran from the room.

“Can’t you see, Derek? She’d scared of you,” Trisha shook her head.

“Don’t start again, Trisha. You owe me your life, and don’t you dare forget it.”

“What? What life!” She spat. “I don’t have a life!”

“Would you rather this? Or to have become a killer!? Or _killed_ , by the Slayer!”

Tara didn’t want to interrupt. She actually kind of hoped she’d just disappear. Become invisible so he couldn’t see her, any part of her, ever again. She placed the paper on his arm chair and retreated to the corner of the room. They were yelling again. There was too much yelling. It made a funny pain deep in her belly and her eyes stung with tears. She thought Christmas was supposed to be exciting and happy. With yummy food and presents and big hugs and smiles. She clutched her hand around the acorn in her pocket and was flooded with that same warmth as before. _We use them in spells for protection, good luck, wisdom and personal power._ Did she have any of those things? She was pretty sure she didn’t used to have them. But now she had her acorn… would Christmas be made better if she could just get them to stop yelling? Donny wasn’t paying attention. He was playing with matchbox cars. And her parents weren’t even looking at her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself – to not stutter, to not cry. Just go up to them… ask them to please stop… please… and for the second time that morning, a slap echoed around the room, followed by the shriek that broke Tara’s heart.

“It’s Christmas!” She shrieked. “Just STOP!”

Her mother’s eyes widened instantly, as if begging for Tara to take back what had just happened. Her father spun around to face her. His eyes were dark.

“Did you just tell me what to do?” The machine-rumble voice was back, and Tara began to quiver. Her palms got clammy and she was afraid she was going to be sick. Her hands were so slippery the acorn fell from her grip, and instantly the warmth was gone. Now all that was left was a cold, empty knot in her belly and the scream building on her tongue. She couldn’t open her mouth to answer, she just shrank back, trying in vain to burrow into the wall.

“ _Did you just tell me what to do_?” He father repeated, advancing on her.

“I-I-I-I-I-I--”

“Shut up!”

“Derek, please…”

“Trisha so help me--”

And Tara screamed. Long and loud and high, a keening note for all the times his hands had crept beneath her skirt, for all the times his blows had rained down on her face, her back, her bottom, for all the times his words had left her quivering, for all the times she’d been so terrified she couldn’t sleep. With one hand, her father slammed her hard up against the wall. His breath was hot on her face.

“You worthless little demon,” he hissed, shaking her slightly. Her feet dangled above the ground, and she kicked out at him, but couldn’t reach.

“Derek, please,” he mother’s cry was strangled.

His next shake slated her head against the wall and she felt blood dribble down her temple, mixing with the tears on her cheeks. Her vision was spotty and everything wobbled in front of her eyes. She was so cold. There was a crunch, and she felt the last bit of warmth sucked out of her as his foot came down on her acorn. It’s like everything nice faded away, until nothing was real but how much her head and her neck and her belly hurt. Until she couldn’t feel anything but the throbbing bruises and the gut-wrenching guilt of how many times her mother had been hit. How many times it had all been her fault.

“D-daddy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “please, i-it’s Christmas…”


	5. Sorry 'Bout That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Total humorous fluff (to make up for how depressing the last one is). It’s Christmas at the Summer’s house (assume S5 (approx. Triangle) and everyone is having a good time…until Dawn opens one of her gifts. There's a kitten.
> 
> This chapter especially is for the lovely Redalader xo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final one, thank you so much for being the most fun little secret santa ever, Princess!!!  
> Same goes to you, Redalader: though we haven't spoken or anything, this is a temp gift for you. So <3

“Dawn, you either get you butt over here and start chopping vegetables or you get your butt into the living room and help with the decorating.”

“My butt is just fine right here, thank you very much,” she pouted, crossing her arms indignantly at her sister.

“Not for long,” Buffy muttered under her breath, quickly returning to dicing the carrots. She quickly began rifling back through the recipe book, a stricken look on her face. Dawn smirked. She did kinda like it when ‘perfect Buffy’ wigged. “GILES!” Buffy bellowed.

The Watcher careened into the kitchen, reaching for the nearest weapon. Buffy spun round, eyes wide and fearful and slammed the cookbook down on the counter, pointing to a point on the page, face stricken. “Giles, it says the carrots have to be chopped julienne, but I _diced_ them. _Diced_ Giles! Everything’s ruined!”

“Oh good Lord,” Giles shook his head and immediately walked straight back out of the room.

“Is everything okay in there Mr Giles?” Tara asked, a worried frown creasing her brow.

“It’s bloody thanksgiving all over again,” he groaned, taking a light string from Xander, who was trying to wrap Anya up in it.

“Oh no!” Anya cried, “Xander I don’t want you getting syphilis again!”

“Aw you were worried about me hon?” He gave her a one armed hug.

“I was worried your penis would become she disfigured we’d never have sex again!”

Tara coughed to cover her laugh, glancing at Willow and feeling oddly grateful.

“Though to be clear,” Willow said, “you mean ‘thanksgiving all over again’ in the sense of Buffy having kitchen freakouts, rather than ancient spirits trying to kill us, right?”

“Indeed,” Giles clarified gently. “Though, I must say, ancient spirits are probably easier to handle than Buffy is in her current state.”

“I see why everyone looked so pale when Buffy said she’d host Christmas,” Dawn chirped, coming into the living room and dropping down on the couch. “She’s a total b-i-t-c-h right now.”

“Bitca?” Xander reminisced, grinning at Willow.

Dawn frowned momentarily, but then continued. “I mean, she’s totally spazzing over some carrots that she cut wrong or something. I liked it better when mom made dinner.” Dawn finished up with her patented (rather, stolen from Buffy) pout.

“Your mom’s still not up to cooking a full Christmas dinner, Dawnie,” Tara said gently.  
“Yeah, you gotta let your mom heal so she can be a party-animal on New Years,” Xander gave Dawn a wink, “I don’t know about you, but I know who _I’m_ getting my midnight kiss from!”

“Eww!!” Dawn squeaked, chucking a pillow at Xander.

“And hey!” Anya whacked him in the arm.

“I second the ew,” Tara added.

“And raise you a _eugch_ ,” Willow continued.

They all stopped their banter, sniffing the air… it was… interesting. Suddenly there was a loud crash from the kitchen.

“Uh, I’m gonna g-go do some serious intervention before Buffy slays the ‘bad dinner’,” Tara glanced toward the kitchen.

“Probably a wise idea,” Giles muttered.

 

“Look at my buzzy little worker bees,” Joyce said kindly, easing onto a stool at the kitchen bench.

“Mom!” Buffy cried, “you’re supposed to be in _bed_.”

“Y-yes Mrs Summers,” Tara urged, “you should rest.”

“I just came down to check you weren’t burning my house down,” Joyce smiled playfully, “though I see Tara here has straightened things out,” she gestured to Tara, who was washing severely burned mashed potato (how Buffy had burned mashed potato, she had no idea) down the sink, whilst simultaneously stirring the cranberries.

“Mom, _when_ have I let this house come to any harm under my care?” Buffy asked.

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Huh?” Buffy was already distracted by the turkey.

“Well I could make a list… there were the zombies, and that time with your battle with Faith, and--”

“Mom, you look sick, you should go back to bed,” Buffy urged, ushering her mother upstairs.

“I’m gone,” she chuckled.

 

“Thanks Tara,” Buffy said sheepishly a little while later, “without your help, I’m pretty sure everyone would be making fake yummy noises and smiling a little too big.”

“It’s no problem Buffy,” she laughed, “r-r-really.” She paused, staring at the ruined pot of peas she’d given up on rescuing. “Though I honestly have n-no idea how you managed to get _frozen peas_ wrong.”

“Having a sacred birth right does not dictate culinary finesse,” Buffy pouted.

“I g-got that much,” Tara shook her head in wonderment.

“How’s it all going, baby?” Willow sidled up behind Tara, wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist and resting her chin on Tara’s shoulder.

“Well, nothing’s come to life or attacked us yet, so I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good for a day in the Summers’ household,” Buffy grinned.

“B-Buffy’s doing… enthusiastically.”

“I used to get that on my report cards for PE in elementary school,” Willow mused. “It translated to, ‘you’re crappy at this, but we like you so we’re being nice’.”

“P-pretty much,” Tara gave Buffy an apologetic grin.

“Well, I’ve still got one more gift to pick up, but we can eat as soon as I get back, okay baby?”

“Yep. You need me to come with you?” Tara asked.

“No, I’ll be fine. What’s one little critter when you’ve faced Vampire battalions and giant snakes?” She pressed a quick kiss to Tara’s lips, fishing the keys out of the girl’s front pocket before leaving. Buffy gazed longingly at the spot of Willow’s lipstick on Tara’s cheek.

“Uh, Buffy?”

“I need a relationship. Like, now.”

 

Willow placed the last, bow-embellished box under the Christmas tree, and returned to the dining room, taking her place next to Tara at the table. Joyce and Giles were already talking animatedly about an ancient Mayan art exhibition at the gallery and Dawn was gazing open-mouthed at the very…open-mouthed make-out session Xander and Anya were having. Figuring PDAs would go unnoticed with Xander and Anya sitting across from them, Willow leaned in and kissed Tara, long and deep. When they pulled apart, there was a blush high on Tara’s cheekbones. Willow realised with a guilty jolt that Joyce was watching them, but she simply gave the couple a very warm and gentle smile. The tenderness was abruptly broken by Buffy, who placed – well, more like slammed – the turkey, all glisten-y and basted, down in the centre of the table.

“Well Buffy, this looks fantastic,” Giles commended proudly.

“Yes honey, it looks wonderful!”

“Yeah!” Dawn added, “considering the total spaz attack you were having in the kitchen this does look pretty good. I bet I could cook Christmas dinner too.”

“I’m sure you could, Dawnie,” Tara said kindly.

“Yeah, well thank Tara,” Buffy smiled warmly, “she’s the reason we actually have…any…food.”

 

The dinner was, admittedly, delicious. Though they’d all been rather nervous about Buffy’s cooking.

“Full…” Willow intoned, sinking down on the couch, her head in Tara’s lap.

“Aw baby,” Tara pressed a kiss to her forehead, running her hand lightly over Willow’s full ‘lil belly.

“Why aren’t we that adorable, Xander?” Anya asked.

“It’s just not our style, Ahn.” They were curled on the floor under the tree, Anya sitting on Xander’s while Xander repeatedly curled a lock of her blonde hair over his finger again and again. She seemed contented enough with has answer… or at least plied enough with eggnog that she wasn’t up to arguing her point.

“I want presents,” Dawn announced, dropping down onto the couch next to Willow’s feet.

“I second that notion,” Buffy sprang up with an enviable amount of energy, bounding toward the great piles of gifts beneath the tree.

“How is she actually vertical?” Xander said in wonderment.

“I have an uncomfortable amount of food inside of me,” Anya said in support.

“You’re forgetting the Slayer constitution,” Giles reminded them, sinking into an armchair with a mock groan.

“She’s a bottomless pit,” Joyce observed with a grin. “Let me tell you, having her and Faith around… they ate me out of house and home.”

“That’s not our fault,” Buffy countered. “Slaying makes you hungry!”

“Among other things,” Xander smirked.

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Mister,” Buffy warned.

He mimed zipping his lips.

“Presents it is,” Giles hurriedly began polishing his glasses.

 

Many bottles of perfume, CDs, boxes of chocolate, books, stationery kits, weapons and a several very naughty gag gifts later (when Willow opened a book to find a vibrator was hidden in it with a basic concealment charm – which Tara swore she didn’t know what for when she helped Buffy with it – Joyce nearly sent Dawn upstairs) it was time for one final gift, from Willow and Tara to Dawn.

“Okay Dawnie, this is why I had to duck out earlier. We’ve already talked to your mom about it, so we hope you like it,” Willow beamed.

Dawn tore into the paper with excitement, to reveal a plain white cardboard box, which she impatiently opened. From it, popped a tiny little grey tabby kitten, with a yellow bow around its neck. Dawn gasped, instantly in love with the sweet little kitten. The tabby jumped from the box, instantly curling into Dawn’s lap. She stroked it lovingly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh Willow, Tara… oh I love it!”

“It looks like she loves you t-too,” Tara grinned.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“What are you going to call her, Dawn?” Giles asked.

“Uh,” she fingered the bright yellow bow around the kitten’s neck, “Sunny. Her name’s Sunny.”

“Maybe she’ll ward off vampires for you,” Xander joked.

“We’re on a place called _Sunny_ dale, yet there are more vampires here than anywhere else in the world,” Anya pointed out.

“I think the point of the name is, uh, irony,” Giles corrected.

“Sunny,” Dawn cooed, “hi Sunny!” The little kitten opened its eyes wide, yawning and kneading its paws on her jeans. “Oh!” Dawn squeaked, “Oh she’s so cute!”

“She’s wonderful,” Joyce knelt beside her daughter, stroking the kitten behind its ears. “Thank you,” she said softly to Willow and Tara.

“Miss Kitty can come over for playdates!” Dawn grinned.

“I’m sure she’d like that,” Tara laughed.

 

After pudding, they all sat around, playing and cooing at Sunny. The little kitten seemed to be lapping up the attention.

“Dawn, could you cut me another piece of fruitcake please?” Buffy asked.

“You’re _still_ hungry?!” the room cried.

“What?” Buffy shrugged.  
Dawn rolled her eyes, but stood and went to cut her sister a piece.

“Ouch,” she muttered, sucking on her finger as she handed Buffy the cake. “I cut myself.”

“I though you were supposed to be able to competently use a knife by age fourteen,” Buffy teased.

“Shut up.” Sunny padded over, looking with what could only be concern at her the wound on her mistress’ finger. She stuck out her rough little tongue and licked the drop of blood from the tip of Dawn’s finger. “Ew, Sunny!” Dawn said. Suddenly, the tiny little kitty began to grow. And grow. And grow. “Uh, guys…” Dawn’s eyes widened, “I know kitties grow fast, but…”

“Uh-oh.”

Sunny was already at head-level to Buffy, when her features began to morph. Her front teeth began to elongate, and her eyes turned further up at the corners. Her fur began to retract and her claws extend.

“Sunny?” Dawn whispered.

“Thanks for freeing me, doll,” the demon said in a husky, bored voice. It was massive, taller than Xander and broader than two of him. It was covered in totally un-tabby, scaly skin with a slight ooze-factor and had glow-y yellow eyes. “I’m sure you woulda been a _great_ mistress…” Sunny turned to Willow and Tara, “and thanks for picking to bring me right to the slayer’s home, by the way. Super useful, girls.”

“Uh, Buffy,” Xander whispered, “aren’t you gonna, ya know, slay?”

“I can’t kill Sunny!” She squeaked.

“But _Sunny_ , is a _demon_ ,” Xander clarified.

“Why is everything always a demon?” Joyce muttered, “this doesn’t happen to other people does it? It’s just you guys, right?”

“Pretty much always,” Xander confirmed.

“Oh Goddess,” Tara said.

“Dawnie, we had _no_ idea…”

“Oh cut the crap,” Sunny rolled her slanted eyes, slashing her claws out and clipping Willow across the shoulder.

“Willow!” Joyce and Tara both cried, hurrying to her.

“Did my kitten just swear?” Dawn said, looking slightly dazed.

“Well technically, she’s not your kitten. She’s an animorprophic demon.” Everyone stared at Anya. “They’re shape shifting. To avoid danger, they shape shift into animals and can’t be released until they taste blood.”

“Huh, they said you’d lost your touch, Anyanka,” Sunny observed.

“Shut up.”

“Why do you _always_ know the demons we fight?” Xander rolled his eyes, then ran toward Sunny, dropping her with a rugby tackle.

“Now that’s manly,” Anya grinned. Sunny quickly reversed their positions, laying a punch on Xander’s jaw. “Now getting beaten up by a kitten, not so much.”

Buffy jumped on Sunny from behind, grabbing her neck, “you’re a _little girl’s_ Christmas present--”

“I’m not a little girl!” Dawn yelled.

“—couldn’t you just hold out a couple days?” Buffy pulled Sunny’s neck back in a chokehold, nearly to breaking point as the ex-kitten sputtered and gurgled… but she couldn’t do it. I mean, how can you kill a _kitten_?

“Buffy!” Willow squeaked, groggily standing up whilst supporting herself on Tara, “Buffy it’s not a kitten! Kill it!”

“Oh, but… _kitten_ …”

“Buffy!” Everyone groaned.

“Fine…” Buff pulled Sunny’s head further back, but just as she did so, Sunny changed… her features morphed back softer, her body shrank and hair sprouted… except she wasn’t a kitten. “Huh?”

“They can’t take the same form twice,” Anya replied to her unasked question.

And Buffy dropped the little mouse. Sunny scampered for the skirting board.  
“Sorry ‘bout that Dawnie…”

“We’ll get you a new, non-demonic kitten, I promise,” Tara said. Dawn just stared at her kitten-gone-demon-gone-mouse scampering away. But just before it reached the little mouse hole, a booted foot came down on her. Joyce gingerly picked up the mouse, its neck snapped.

“Sorry,” she said to everyone’s shocked expressions. “I just… I really hate mice.”

 


End file.
